


Maybe I'm Just Crazy

by ThisOldThing



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 19:23:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11698281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisOldThing/pseuds/ThisOldThing
Summary: Joan is joined at lunch by someone she's not expecting.





	Maybe I'm Just Crazy

“Maybe I’m just crazy.”

Detective Marcus Bell laughed. “I think it’ll be a cold day in hell before you get described as ‘crazy.’”

Joan smiled widely and handed him back the brown folder.

“Thank you, for looking this over,” he said, standing awkwardly next to her cafe table. He squinted, the sun’s midday light hitting his eyes. “I know today is supposed to be your day off–“

“But Sherlock is off on another one of his wild goose chases with the Emerson case and Captain Gregson said to not come back to the precinct until you had an answer.”

“Yeah,” Bell said, nodding his head. “Something like that.”

“It’s not a problem,” Joan said. She looked to the bangle watch on her wrist and then back up to the detective. “My lunch date is late anyway, so you did me a favor.”

“How do you figure?” Bell asked, pulling his bag onto his shoulder and tucking the folder into the front pocket.

“Better to be chatting about a stolen shipment of maple syrup with one of New York’s finest than looking at my watch every three minutes.”

Marcus frowned. “Whoever this person is, they’re crazy to make you wait.” He hesitated. “Do you want me to stay–“

“No, I’m fine,” Joan said with a laugh, a light blush on her cheeks. “I have a book on my phone that I can read until he gets here.” She waved the device sheepishly before placing it on the white tablecloth.

“Then I’ll leave you to it,” he said, taking a step backward. “Thanks again for the help, Joan. Day off and everything.”

“My pleasure, Marcus. Let me know if you need anything else.”

They shared a warm smile and Marcus left, leaving Joan to navigate to her book app. She settled into reading, enjoying the warm spring air, despite it increasingly looking like she was being stood up. She was about to check her watch again out of habit when she heard a familiar voice.

“I’m surprised to find you sitting alone, Ms. Watson.” Joan looked up to find Jamie Moriarty standing across the table from her in an impeccably tailored suit, the spring sun bouncing off of her blonde hair. “Every time I’ve seen you for the past week you’ve had Sherlock or Detective Bell by your side.” Jamie’s eyebrows arched, innocently. “Is this seat taken?”

Joan watched, shocked silent as Jamie placed a large purse on the table before pulling out the empty chair and sitting in one graceful movement. A waiter appeared, as if out of nowhere and Jamie looked up with a smile. “Yes, I’ll have a tea, please. English Breakfast, hot, no sugar. And you, Joan?”

“Have you been following me?” Joan snapped and the waiter’s eyes went wide.

Jamie smiled, content to have caught Joan off guard and looked back to the waiter. “Just the one tea, please.”

The waiter nodded and quickly made his escape. Jamie’s gaze fell back onto Joan, who leaned into the table, her chest resting against the edge. “Have you?” Joan asked again, her cheeks covered in an angry blush.

“You never replied to my letter,” Jamie said.

“The letter in which you admitted to killing Elana March?”

“So you did read it,” Jamie said, smiling proudly.

“And how would I even do that, write you back? It’s not as if your address is widely known.”

“The same way Sherlock has, I suppose.”

“He–“ Joan sighed. “Of course he’s still writing you.” Joan leaned back in her chair with a huff. She watched the waiter return with Jamie’s cup of tea. Jamie smiled in thanks before turning her gaze back to Joan, the waiter once again disappearing. “What do you want?”

“I thought I could offer some assistance with a case you’ve been working on. One, that from all outside appearances, has been more challenging than a truckload of stolen maple syrup.”

Joan steamed. “And what case is that?” she replied.

“The Emerson case.”

Joan felt her teeth tighten against each other as she sat stone cold silent.

“I may have sent Sherlock on a bit of an errand this morning so that we could speak freely with one another,” Jamie admitted.

“And my lunch date?” Joan asked, already knowing the answer. Jamie smiled like a Cheshire cat and Joan rolled her eyes. “What could you possibly know about the Emerson case?”

Jamie cocked her head demurely before reaching into the oversized purse on the table and pulling out a thick folder. She handed it across the table. When Joan didn’t take it, Jamie gently put it down on Joan’s place setting. Jamie leaned back in her chair and delicately picked up her cup of tea, the steam curling into the warm air.

Joan looked from the folder to Jamie’s face. “So you’re a detective, now.”

“Hardly,” Jamie answered, amused. “Emerson and I just happen to have some shared interests and I would like to see his case resolved.”

“So, this folder is full of fabricated evidence to frame John Emerson and devalue his company.”

“I think you will find all of the papers to be quite legitimate.” Jamie smiled. “Though you are correct—I would benefit greatly by Mr. Emerson’s downfall—I assure you that my involvement in this matter is mainly altruistic.” She blew across the surface of the tea before taking a tentative sip.

“You do know what that word means, right?” Joan asked, her eyes flicking from the faint stain of lipstick left behind on the cup’s edge to Jamie’s eyes. “Altruism isn’t exactly your MO.”

Jamie paused as she placed the cup gently on its saucer. “Perhaps altruism was the wrong word, though I do think the sentiment is similar.” She sat back up in her chair. “I am a fan.”

“A fan? What’s that supposed to mean?” Joan asked, shrugging her shoulders.

“It means, I meant what I said in my letter. I admire you, Joan Watson. You have gone from being a very capable surgeon to a formidable detective in a little more than four years. Your mind rivals that of the great Sherlock Holmes.”

“You mock him.”

“On the contrary. I used to think him singular in mind, the only one worthy to be called my adversary.” Jamie smiled. “Used to, before I had the great pleasure of meeting you.”

“So, what?” Joan asked. “You help me, and then…”

Jamie took in a deep breath, her eyes sparkling. “You are correct that when John Emerson falls, his company will be devalued. What will happen next is a bit like the famous domino effect. Consider the file in front of you my finger tapping on the first domino.” She took a sip from her tea and then delicately blotted her lips with a cloth napkin.

“And?” Joan said.

Jamie’s brows rose. “I want to see if you can keep pace with the falling dominoes.” She smiled slightly and stood, picking up her purse. She stepped away from her chair, and gently pushed it back into place.

“And if I can’t, then what?” Joan asked.

“You will have surprised me, yet again,” Jamie said. She smiled and turned to leave. Joan’s voice stopped her.

“Your perfume.”

Jamie turned and squinting slightly, faced Joan. Jamie raised an eyebrow, urging Joan to continue.

“It’s unusual,” Joan said. “Like the smell of the air right after a lightening strike, right? I mean, that’s the description I read about that particular scent when I was studying fine fragrance for a case a couple of years ago. It’s one of the most expensive perfumes in the world.”

Jamie slightly cocked her head.

“I smelled it two days ago near the Brownstone,” Joan continued. “I thought it was unusual that such a delicate scent was in our neighborhood. Some of our neighbors have money, but not enough to spend on something so rare.” Joan stood and took a step toward Jamie. “The next time you decide to lurk around and stalk someone, maybe try wearing something a little less distinctive.”

Jamie smirked, emitting a slight puff of air. “The file, Joan,” she said, nodding back to the table. “I await your next move.”

Joan watched as Jamie turned heel and left, the smell of a fresh lightening strike fading around her.

**Author's Note:**

> Quick write for the prompt: "Maybe I'm just crazy."


End file.
